


Antidote

by tyomawrites



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Psychosis, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9942848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyomawrites/pseuds/tyomawrites





	

The Alhambra Theatre burned to the ground, the crackling and pop of burning wood and the crash of rafters as the building crumbled beneath the strain of weakened columns and the screams of people inside burning to their deaths, trapped in something caused by him, it was all his fault. He stumbled away, wiping the red from his hands and wrists onto the black of his coat, eyes, stinging reducing the further he got from the smoke and flames and his coughing, with his throat burning from smoke inhalation and his clothes had holes and were blackened where the flames managed to catch for a moment before he put them out. Feet tripping over the gravel, he began to make his way back to their train carriage. With each step he took, he felt the shifting of eyes, the phantom breeze following behind him despite the heat that radiated from the fire. He scrubbed at his eyes, pretending to himself that the burning that he now felt was just from the flames. 

_ “–Darling, what a night-” _ He spun around, searching for the voice ringing in his ears and the silence, the crackle and pop of the fire fading into the distance as he moved further and further away from the scene mechanically, one foot in front of the other, forcing himself to move on.  He stumbled against a loose brick of the paving as his head throbbed in both confusion and grief. He reached out blinding, feeling for something to lean on, finding a corner of a wall, he rested his hand on the wall and leaned against it, doubling over to both catch his breath and to rub his temples with his free hand, almost roughly, as if trying to hurt himself. His hand trembled against the cold stone, knees protesting with each breath heaved.

_ “–The stuff of legends.–”   _ His eyes widened, dread freezing the blood in his veins, his free hand pushed his hair off his face and he straightened is back , his other hand clenched into a fist against the wall.

“No…” His voice was a deathly whisper as the  _ drip, drip _ of the pipes in the alleyway dropped into puddles, the feeling of eyes trained on his back sent shivers down his spine, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing, skin tingling and goosebumps on his wrists rising. “You’re dead.”

_ “–What, snap a baby crows’ neck between my thumb and forefinger? –”  _ A phantom hand landed on his shoulder and he spun around, eyes meeting the same maniacal brown of Roth’s staring back at him, the dim, muted light from the streetlamp highlighting the red, aggrivated scar that ran from the top of his cheekbone down to the turn of his lips, twisted up into a sickening grin. The tip of Roth’s teeth gleamed in the dim light with that grin, his eyes flickered along with his surroundings, the darkness edged closer and so did those brown eyes, reflection holding flames inside them.

“I thought I killed you…” He clenched his fists, rearing back to throw a punch at Roth, with a blink of a eye, Roth was a few steps away from him, his punch missing. 

“ _ –You can’t run from me , I’m everywhere, I rule the underground of this city boy.–”  _ Roth’s lips pulled back into a snarl, figners twitching as they reached out towards him, those same hands that he remembered to be warm, ghastly pale in the dim orange of the lamp. “ _ –I’ll slice to bits the ones you deem innocent, have you watch as I hang your sister, maybe strangle her with my bare hands, Henry will follow, or I’d keep him as a dummy for my men to practice their fighting on, how long do you think he would last– _ ”

His boy sucked in a deep breath, hands clenching and unclenching, eyes wide and fearful, chest heaving, muscles tense with unease and anxiety.

_ “–Oh, but that wouldn’t even be my best punishment, oh dear no… you deserve something much more painful, domething I know will hurt you to the core.” _ Roth’s hands reached into his coat pocket. “ _ –To keep the world in it’s devine manic state–” _

“Why did you do it? All of it.” He was so confused, his heart was pounding in his chest, the nape of his neck sticky with rapidly cooling sweat, his head pounding, aching and sore, mind crowded with confusing thoughts that zipped around and confounded him to no end.

Roth chuckled to himself, still, his dear boy did not understand, was still confused by the morality he still possessed, did not get that true freedom was to do whatever one wished. Only fools asked for a reason, only miserable people searched for an answer until they were old and died with unresolved questions on their mind. His hands brought out a gun, twirling it in his fingers like it was only a toy.  _ “–Do you not understand my dear boy, for the same reason I would do anything…–” _

Roth’s hands were around his throat, the gun laying next to him, those phantom hands cold against the warmth of his skin, pressing and squeezing, those fiery brown eyes glowed with each press of his fingers against his throat, gleaming teeth morphing into fangs that shone against the dim light, the darkness that was once encircling them had returned once again, seeping into the edges of his vision and also blocking out the once normal face of Roth, the remainder of what could be seen gored and twisted, flames having licked at the skin, blistering and burning it. 

“ _ –Why not?–” _ Roth’s hands fell away and his own hands took their place, the cold metal of his hidden blade pressing against his throat, the sharp blade already causing a thin trickle of blood to ooze onto the white of his collar, onto the red of his vest.

“ _ –Why not?–” _  Roth’s voice filled his ears and he dropped to his knees sobbing, brokenly as visions of his sister’s broken body flashed in front of him, images of Henry weakly taking blows from Roth’s men, the Blighters leaving red splattered across Henry’s face without mercy.

“ _ –Why not?–” _  The blade pressed into his throat, and through gurguling blood, Jacob tried to scream.

 


End file.
